


(There's No Way) We Got Married

by vela (genic)



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8090440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genic/pseuds/vela
Summary: Zen receives an offer to star on a certain popular South Korean reality TV show. Zen has zero complaints about this. Zen finds out his fans want him to star with a certain multimillionaire celebrity on said TV show. Zen now has a world of complaints about this.(Alternatively: Jumin and Zen pretend to be a married couple for 72 hours. Neither of them knows what to expect at the end of this.)





	1. We're Not Getting Married

“My life…is **over.** ”

 

Zen hits the send button and buries his face in the pillow, groaning as he listens for the notification sound of his text being sent into the chatroom. Immediately, the sounds of responding texts ring in his ears but he allows himself to wallow in his self-pity before dragging the screen of his phone to his face.

 

 **Yoosung** ★: ??? What happened, Zen?

 

 **Yoosung** ★: Don’t tell me you’re about to complain about having no girlfriend again…

 

 **707** : lol nah, I’ve got a hunch…

 

 **Yoosung** ★: A hunch?

 

 **707:** This melodramatic air…this level of pure anguish…it’s gotta be about the one only Jumin Han, right? lolololol

 

Zen groans even more loudly as he defeatedly selects his crying emoji and sends it into the chatroom.

 

 **707:** lolololololol I knew it!! Defender of Justice 707’s hunches are never wrong.

 

 **Yoosung** **★** **:** Oh no…care to explain, Zen?

 

Zen sits up in his bed and runs his hand through his hair, debating how to explain the situation. After a few moments, his fingers quickly skim across his phone screen.

 

 **ZEN:** Do you guys know about that one TV show…“We Got Married”?

 

 **Yoosung** **★** **:** Oh, yeah! It’s that one popular TV show where celebrities pretend to get married and live with each other for a while to see what married life would be like, right? What about it?

 

 **ZEN:** Well…

 

 **707:** O

 

 **707:** M

 

 **707:** G

 

Zen slaps a hand onto his face and curses Seven for catching on so quickly.

 

 **ZEN:** Seven, **shut up**. Anyways, I met with the creators of the show a little while ago and they offered to have me appear on it. I haven’t agreed to doing it yet, but I asked my fans on Twitter to see who they would want me to “get married” to and…

 

 **Yoosung** **★** **:** They…they said they wanted you to…get married to… _Jumin?_

 

Zen takes the opportunity to spam the chatroom with five crying emojis in a row.

 

 **707:** THIS IS THE BEST THING THAT’S HAPPENED ALL WEEK

 

 **707:** NAH, ALL YEAR!! LIFETIME!!

 

 **Yoosung** **★** **:** Seven, omg;;;; Well, what are you going to do, Zen?

 

Zen sighs and flops onto his back, holding his cell phone above his face. What _was_ he going to do? No way in hell he wanted to get married, even virtually, to Jumin Han, but there was also no way he could turn down the opportunity to be on such a wildly popular reality TV show. Not to mention how much his fans would want this…

 

The notification ping of a new message. Zen squints at his screen.

 

 **707:** Wait wait wait Jumin’s gotta know about this ASAP. Let’s put the great 707’s power to work~

 

 **Yoosung** **★** **:** Power? You mean you’re gonna call for him?

 

 **707:** Yup! Watch this — JUMIN HAN!! MAKE YOUR PRESENCE KNOWN IF U WANNA GET MARRIED TO ZEN!!

 

 **Yoosung** **★** **:** OMG…is it actually gonna work?

 

Zen can’t help but chuckle at Seven’s antics. Surely at this hour, that Jumin jerk would most certainly be enjoying some steak and wine or whatever rich people food he usually eats for dinner. There’s no way he’d be online —

 

_Jumin Han has entered the chatroom._

 

Zen sits up so quickly he nearly flings his phone across the room. His heart starts to pound in embarrassment and anticipation. He knew Jumin would have seen these messages eventually but he had planned to leave the chatroom beforehand. No way this was happening right _now,_ right _here_ —

 

 **Jumin Han:** Hmm.

 

“‘Hmm?’ That’s all he’s got to say, really?!” Zen hisses at his screen. “‘Hmm,’ my ass! How the hell am I supposed to respond to that?” He fiddles with a lock of his hair before punching in a reply.

 

 **ZEN:** Well, if it isn’t the trust fund kid himself. What do you think? Absurd idea, isn’t it?

 

 **Jumin Han:** …Not really. It’s actually a smart business move for the both of us.

 

Zen sputters, dropping his phone onto his face. Quickly picking it up and rubbing his lightly bruised nose, he simply stares at the screen. He actually thinks it’s a good idea?! What — just what the hell is wrong with this man?!

 

 **707** **:** OMGOMGOMGOMG

 

 **Yoosung** **★** **:** ‘OMGOMGOMGOMG’ SECONDED…Jumin, what are you thinking?!

 

 **707:** Omg…Jumin, are you…are you maybe confirming those rumors??

 

 **Jumin Han:** Actually, quite the opposite. This is the perfect opportunity for me to dispel those rumors and the perfect opportunity for Zen to gain more exposure and popularity. Like I said, this could be beneficial to both of us.

 

Zen continues to stare at his screen speechlessly, mouth hanging open in shock. He has absolutely no clue what goes on in that man’s head, but he can’t help but recognize that Jumin has a point…wait — no way was he considering “getting married” to Jumin Han of all people! Zen shakes his head and slaps his cheeks. Snap out of it!

 

 **ZEN:** You have **got** to be kidding me. No way I would EVER want to get married to you!!

 

 **Jumin Han:** You aren’t getting married to me, Zen. It’s a TV show. Not to mention, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your fans, would you?

 

Zen huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. It’s true; he wants to do anything he can to please his fans, but this…

 

 **ZEN:** Sure, I’d do anything for my fans but the whole show would be a disaster anyways! You know better than anyone else that we don’t get along in the slightest! There’s no way we could pretend to be married!

 

 **Jumin Han:** You don’t know that.

 

Zen tosses his phone onto the space next to him on the mattress and throws his hands up in exasperation. Of course he knows it’d be a disaster! Since when have he and Jumin agreed on anything at all? Going on the show together would be a painful experience for Zen, for Jumin, for Zen’s fans, and most definitely it’d be utter hell for the film crew.

 

_Ping!_

 

Zen turns his head slowly to his phone. With a groan of defeat, he picks it up and his eyes travel down to the most recent message.

 

 **Jumin Han:** How about before you decide to accept or decline the offer, we hold a rehearsal of sorts?

 

Zen frowns and tilts his head to the left, genuinely confused. A rehearsal? How?

 

As if answering Zen’s thoughts, another message pops into the chatroom.

 

 **Jumin Han:** We can try pretending to be married for three days. You can decide at the end of it whether you can go through with it or not.

 

 _“What?!”_ Zen practically shrieks, so startled that his fingers hit the button to leave the chatroom. “He wants to — to pretend to be married?! That Jumin Han — what the hell is he thinking? There’s no way, there’s no way in _hell_ …” Zen pants, out of breath from his ranting. His phone vibrates under his fingers.

 

“What now?!” He snatches up the phone. An incoming call from none other than Jumin Han himself.

 

Out of sheer agitation, Zen picks up the call right away. “What do you _want?!”_ he yells into the phone.

 

“Quiet down, you’ll startle Elizabeth 3rd.” God, he never shuts up about that damn fur ball.

 

“I don’t care. Look, you aren’t serious, are you?” Zen snaps at Jumin.

 

“I am. 6 PM tomorrow, at my place. Our 72 hours start then.”

 

Anguish bubbles in Zen’s voice. “No!! Going to your place is digging my damn grave! Your fur ball’s hair will be the death of me!”

 

A muffled sigh on Jumin’s end. “It's Elizabeth. Anyways, for her sake more than your own, I’ll make sure she’s in a separate room from you at all times. Unless you aggravate me, that is.”

 

“This is _not_ going to work. And you know it.” Zen growls into the phone.

 

He hears Jumin shift. Zen can practically see the pretentious asshole crossing his legs in his stupidly expensive leather swivel chair.

 

“For your fans.”

 

Zen pauses and frowns. For…for his fans…he sighed. He’d feel awful if he didn’t at least try for the sake of his fans. He huffs and pushes his bangs back with one hand.

 

“Fine. Don’t blame me if your house is on fire or something by the end of this.”

 

“I will make a note to confiscate your lighter then. And install more fire extinguishers in the house.”

 

“Don’t you fucking dare touch my lighter. Also, do _not_ have one of your drivers pick me up to go to your place tomorrow. I’ll get a cab to go there myself.” He’ll be damned if he ever has to get in one of Jumin’s cars.

 

“As you wish. Well then…” Zen swears he hears a low chuckle embedded in those words. “…I do.”

 

Zen blinks. “Huh? ‘I do’…what?”

 

“We are getting married, aren’t we? Now, isn’t it your turn to say ‘I do?’” This time, Zen can hear Jumin’s smirk through the phone.

 

_“Shut. Up.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! For those who don’t know yet, "We Got Married" is indeed a real TV show and has aired in South Korea since 2008! Although I don’t keep up with it anymore, it did contribute to quite a few late nights when I was in high school, lol. I’m both glad and amazed that I’m writing about it this many years later. Thanks, Mystic Messenger.
> 
> Thank you again for reading! Depending on how well this is received, I hope to continue writing soon.


	2. We're Really Getting Married?

5:47: _Remind me again why it has to be_ ** _your_** _place?_

 

Zen leans back into the seat of the cab, eyes narrowing at the text he just sent. It would be so much easier if Jumin could just live at his place; there’d be no allergy problem, after all. His phone vibrates and he glances down.

 

5:48: _I’m in a meeting right now._

 

Zen huffs and rolls his eyes. What kind of response is that?

 

5:48: _Answer the question, Jumin._

 

5:50: _If you were the director, where would you rather film a reality TV show about celebrities? My luxurious penthouse_ _or your semi-basement apartment?_

 

Goddammit. He has a point. Zen doesn’t bother replying, shoving his cell phone into the pocket of his coat as the cab slows to a stop. He pays and thanks the driver and steps out onto the pavement with his suitcase. His eyes travel up, up, up — to the glittering lights at the top of the enormous, glamorous-looking building.

 

“He seriously owns this entire building?” Zen scratches his head, frowning. “What’s the point when he’s away at work all the time anyways?” Shaking his head, he enters the doors of the building and is greeted by one of Jumin’s lackeys — er, attendants.

 

“Good evening. You must be Mr. Ryu.” The man in the suit bows politely.

 

Zen rubs the back of his head. “Uh, just Zen is fine.”

 

“My apologies, Mr. Zen. Mr. Han just notified me that his meeting at work is running slightly late. However, I was instructed to take you up to the top floor to wait for him to arrive. If you would follow me please.” The man begins to lead Zen to the elevator (the inside looks like it’s made out of some kind of expensive wood) and Zen quietly follows, wondering if all of Jumin’s servants are robots just like Jumin himself.

 

After a long, awkwardly silent elevator ride, they arrive at the top floor. Zen has long lost count of how many floors they’ve passed by on the way up. After asking Zen to wait patiently, the man bows again and returns to the elevator, leaving Zen tapping his foot impatiently alone. Five minutes pass. Eight. Ten.

 

Zen jumps a little as a different man in a suit appears on his right seemingly out of nowhere. “Good evening, Mr. Ryu, I am one of Mr. Han’s security guards.” He bows his head in greeting. “Mr. Han is expecting you.”

 

“Uh, just Zen. And he better be. It’s already fifteen past six.”

 

“We apologize for the inconvenience.” Jumin’s security guard lifts his head and gestures at the hallway stretching out behind him. “Right this way, please.”

 

Zen follows closely behind, eyes skimming over the wallpaper and the doors that they pass by. Jumin is just one person; just what does he need all these extra rooms for?

 

“Here we are.” The bodyguard stops at a door and bows again. “Please excuse me while I let Mr. Han know that you are here.”

 

Zen waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll let him know myself.” Clearing his throat, he cups his hands around his mouth and takes a deep breath.

 

“Hey, trust fund kid!! I’m here, in case you haven’t noticed!!”

 

Jumin’s security guard appears startled for a brief moment, then makes an expression as if he is trying to stifle a laugh. Zen smirks. Years of theatre certainly don’t let him down now; his yell echoes down the hallway.

 

The door opens to reveal an irritated-looking Jumin. Disgruntled grey eyes glare at Zen. “What did I tell you about aggravating me?” he growls lowly.

 

Zen shifts his weight onto one leg and places a hand on his hip, answering Jumin’s glare with a smug grin. “Consider this payback for leaving your husband to wait for so long.”

 

Jumin raises an eyebrow. “Quick to address yourself as my husband.”

 

Zen rolls his eyes. “The 72 hours have already started, and, as you should know, I pride myself on my acting skills.”

 

Something flickers in Jumin’s gaze. “Acting…right,” Jumin finally replies, opening the door wider to allow Zen inside. Zen hesitates, eyes wandering past Jumin to peek into the room.

 

“…where’s the fur ball?”

 

 _“Elizabeth 3rd._ And she’s in the next room over.” Jumin leans against the door frame and sighs as he closes his eyes. “And, yes, I had this room thoroughly cleaned while I was at work so you should be able to sleep in here without any allergy issues.”

 

Zen blinks. “Uh…huh. Thanks, I guess.” He fiddles with a strand of his hair. Jumin can be alright when he’s being decently considerate, Zen supposes. Suddenly, his fingers stop, leaving the strand wrapped around them. Wait a second…

 

“…did you say ‘sleep?’” Zen says slowly.

 

“Yes, I did.”

 

“…isn’t this _your_ room?”

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

Zen nearly rips out his hair as he wildly gestures. “There are two beds in there, right?! We’re not — we’re not —”

 

Jumin narrows his eyes. “Zen. What do you think the viewers would want to see?”

 

Zen’s mouth opens and closes, garbled words only spilling out in intervals. “What…they want to see? Us…us sleeping…in the…in the…”

 

“In the same bed.” Jumin finishes for him, patience running thin.

 

Zen stares blankly back at Jumin. “…hey,” he mumbles, “so what if we come up with an alternate story where you find out I’m cheating on you with someone and then you just kill me before I have to sleep with you?”

 

Jumin snorts. “No. Now come in already. Having a dispute over useless things out in a hallway doesn’t seem like something a married couple would do.”

 

Zen reluctantly steps into the room and scans his surroundings. His heart jumps a little when he hears the click as Jumin shuts the door behind him. Why is he so nervous all of a sudden?

 

“I cleared out a couple of the drawers next to the bed for you to put your clothes in. I’ve also made space for your belongings in the bathroom.” Jumin sighs, shrugging off his suit jacket.

 

“O-oh. Thanks.” This is the second time he’s thanked Jumin today. The apocalypse had to be tomorrow.

 

Jumin cranes his neck to peek inside of Zen’s suitcase as he unpacks. “You didn’t bring as much as I thought you would.”

 

“Well, I don’t need a lot to survive on, unlike you.” Zen can’t help but to add in that last jab. His eyelids lower as he gazes at the floor. “It’s always been that way.”

 

“Hm.” Jumin doesn’t press further. “I see.”

 

“More importantly…” Zen pushes in the drawers as he finishes placing his clothes in them and points. “Is that wall a fucking aquarium? I mean — first of all, what the hell. Second of all, I didn’t pin you as the fish type of guy.”

 

“I’m not a ‘fish type of guy,’” Jumin replies, tugging at his tie to loosen it. “I just appreciate their quiet beauty.”

 

“Right. Quiet, boring beauty, like you,” Zen snorts, taking out his bathroom essentials from his suitcase.

 

Jumin blinks and follows the actor to the bathroom. “Thank you.”

 

Zen nearly drops his cup and toothbrush on his foot. “I did _not_ mean that as a compliment!” he exclaims, shoving his toothpaste and chapstick into an empty corner by the (is that fucking gold-plated) sink.

 

“Oh, that reminds me.” Jumin says, folding his arms in thought in the doorway to the bathroom. Zen cringes; Jumin’s ideas are never good news. “I did a quick search on the internet last night to see what married couples typically call each other. Which do you prefer: honey, sweetheart, or dear?”

 

Zen snatches his toothbrush and points it threateningly at Jumin. “Mark my words, Jumin Han. I am not above brutally murdering you with this toothbrush.”

 

Jumin chuckles and a part of Zen is taken aback by the sight. He’d seen Jumin laugh over text, he’d heard Jumin laugh over the phone, but he’d never seen Jumin laugh in person. It was so… _weird._

 

“Ah, that’s right,” Jumin continues, “what about that one you seem to personally enjoy using?” God, he has that annoying look like he’s won something. “…‘babe?’”

 

Zen slams his toothbrush back into his cup, sputtering a rainbow of curses, and chases Jumin out of the bathroom.

 

——————————————

 

Surprisingly, the next few hours pass by relatively painlessly. Zen had made sure to eat dinner before arriving (he was not about to let Jumin feed him immediately upon arriving) and Jumin left for a while to eat dinner alone. After returning, Jumin simply told Zen that he was going to be in the room across the hall doing paperwork and to come find him there if he needed anything. With the quiet click of the door, Zen was left alone in the room. Not that he minded.

 

Zen had left his coat on a hanger in a closet in the room and made himself comfortable on the bed — almost too comfortable — with his laptop perched on his thighs. As per usual, he sorted through his inbox, replied to the mountain of emails that came in every day, and even took a new selfie in Jumin’s bathroom to post to his Twitter. With little else to do, he began practicing the lines for his upcoming stage play. Everything was normal.

 

Not. 1 AM rolls around and Zen flops onto the bed after rehearsing his lines for the seventh time tonight, eyes glued to the ceiling. Things don’t feel right at all. This certainly isn’t what a married couple would do, right? Not to mention, Jumin still hadn’t come back to sleep. Didn’t he have work early in the morning?

 

Bored out of his mind, Zen tosses his script onto the mess of blankets on the bed and marches out of the bedroom, shoving the door to Jumin’s office open dramatically. Jumin looks up, mildly surprised.

 

Zen crosses his arms in the doorway, frowning. “Is this your shitty sense of humor at work or something?”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jumin sighs, twirling his pen in irritation. “Now, stop distracting me from my paperwork.”

 

“No!” Zen storms over to Jumin, slamming both hands on the desk for emphasis. “Is this seriously your idea of what a married couple is like? No wonder you can’t get a girlfriend!”

 

Jumin glares up at Zen. “What are you so displeased with now?”

 

“You have work early in the morning, don’t you?!”

 

“Yes, I do. At 6, to be precise. What’s your point —” Jumin swiftly pulls out his phone and checks the time. “Oh.”

 

“‘Oh,’ my ass! Go to bed, you a — a — _achoo!”_ Zen promptly sends nearly all of Jumin’s papers flying. _Shit._

 

Jumin raises an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose I will now.” He rises from his chair and massages between his eyes, evidently worn out by his work.

 

“Is that fur ball in here or something?” Zen manages to sniff out. “You said —”

 

“I went to feed and spend time with her earlier,” Jumin explains, turning off the lights of his office and walking towards the bedroom. “Wash and brush and go to bed before me. I’ll take a shower so you don’t die in your sleep.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Zen replies, rubbing his nose as he returns to the bedroom and heads to the bathroom. “What about your precious paperwork that apparently deserves your attention more than I do?”

 

“…Zen.”

 

“What?”

 

Oh no, it’s that look again. “Are you perhaps jealous of my paperwork?”

 

Zen responds by firmly shutting the bathroom door in Jumin’s face.

 

“It’s no rush. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.” Jumin’s voice comes through the door, muffled.

 

“Yeah, okay. Whatever.” Zen mutters, splashing water onto his face. Just where does this jerk get off saying stuff like that?

 

Within fifteen minutes, Zen changes into the pajamas he brought with him — which felt strange, since he typically just slept in his underwear at home. Nonetheless, he's exhausted from dealing with Jumin, so he settles comfortably underneath the blanket on the right side of the bed. His ears pick up the soft sound of the shower running and he manages to drift off.

 

That is, until he feels the mattress dip beside him and he jumps slightly, heart starting to pound. _Oh my god, this is it. I have to sleep with my archenemy, the trust fund kid, supreme asshole Jumin Han — wait._ Zen squeezes his eyes shut. _It’s simple. I’ll just pretend that I’m already asleep, then he’ll just go to sleep without trying anything, and I can survive until morning. Smart thinking, Zen._

 

He hears Jumin sigh next to him and shift. Great! He’s going to sleep!

 

Jumin throws an arm over Zen.

 

Zen nearly explodes, kicking and thrashing underneath the blanket to sit up, but Jumin’s iron hold is surprisingly strong.

 

“Just what kind of shit are you trying to pull here?!” Zen finally scream-whispers, slightly worn out from his frenzy.

 

Jumin’s voice is low and thick with lethargy. “I’m not pleased with this arrangement either, but if I can’t have Elizabeth 3rd, then you’ll have to do.”

 

Zen has never hated a man more in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was honestly very surprised at how warm the reception of this fic has been! I want to wholeheartedly thank everyone who made such kind comments on the first chapter. You've really given me the fuel to continue writing and I sincerely hope that you will enjoy all the things to come in this fic!


	3. We're Failing at Being Married

Zen’s eyelids have never felt so heavy, but he absolutely cannot sleep. Judging by the sliver of light peeking through the embroidered curtains, it must be morning — yet neither Zen’s nor Jumin’s alarm clocks have sounded. Zen concludes that it is around 5:30 AM and that he wants nothing more than to simply scream.

 

Instead, he tries to inch out of the stifling warmth under Jumin’s arm and finds that, unlike him, Jumin is sleeping like a damn baby and has luckily loosened his grip on Zen. Gently pushing away Jumin’s arm, Zen wriggles out of bed rather unceremoniously and tiptoes towards the shower, grabbing some clean clothes on the way.

 

After exiting the shower, he has to admit that Jumin’s shower is really nice — _too_ nice — and he hasn’t felt so content in a while. Starting to hum softly, Zen takes a moment to admire himself in the gigantic mirror and blows a kiss toward his reflection. “Good morning, handsome,” he croons.

 

“Good morning to you too.”

 

Zen jumps at the muffled voice from the other side of the door. “You’re awake?!” he yelps.

 

“Yes. And I need to prepare for work, so if you’re quite done praising yourself, I’ll be coming in.”

 

“Yeah, sure, go ahead and try,” Zen taunts as he fixes his gaze on his reflection once more. “There is this lovely invention that I’ve utilized called a lock, Jumin.”

 

Silence. “There are no locked doors between a married couple,” Jumin says slowly, “and there certainly are no locked doors in my house.”

 

Zen stares at the doorknob in horror; was he serious…? This is Jumin he’s talking about…he wouldn’t put it past that guy to have some kind of master key…

 

“Then, since you offered so kindly,” Jumin continues, and Zen hears the ominous sound of Jumin’s hand gripping the doorknob. “I will indeed ‘go ahead and try.’”

 

Panicking, the actor’s hands bolt outwards to snatch his clothes and he scrambles to put them on. “Oh my god, never mind! Hold on, jackass! I haven’t put my clothes on yet!”

 

Another pause. “Ah. So it’s that kind of thing. Well, let me know when you take care of it,” Jumin says amusedly.

 

“ _No!!_ It is _not_ that kind of thing! I took a shower!” Zen shrieks, hopping ungracefully on one leg as he pulls on his tight jeans. “Damn, I’ll be out in a sec, just hold on!”

 

He pushes the door open, seething at the sight of Jumin. Jumin simply raises an eyebrow. “Well, then, if you’ll excuse me, _babe,_ ” he says with a deadpan expression and enters the bathroom. Zen growls and glares daggers at Jumin as the bathroom door closes in front of him.

 

“Okay, yeah, whatever, _babe._ ”

 

Within twenty minutes accompanied by a minimal amount of bickering over breakfast, Jumin departs for work with his driver and Zen sinks into the backseat of a cab to head to a rehearsal for his upcoming stage play. He groans into the palm of his hand, exhausted from the lack of sleep.

 

“We’re supposed to be married,” he mutters, “and he doesn’t even give me a goodbye kiss. God, he’d be an absolutely hopeless husband.”

 

 _Oh._ Zen suddenly flushes, the heat of his cheeks warming up his hand. _Kiss…Jumin? Oh my god, no, Zen! Snap out of it, holy shit!_

 

Unsurprisingly, rehearsal turns out to be a disaster; none of Zen’s lines seem to flow quite right and he’s stumbled over the same prop twice. By lunch break, he wants nothing more than to just go home.

 

“…Zen? Are you alright?”

 

Zen wills his weary eyes to look up. Oh, the actress playing the lead female role…what was her name again?

 

She smiles and gently places a bottle of water and a sandwich in front of him. “Here, I brought this from the catering table for you. You seem rather tired…”

 

“Oh my, for a pretty lady like you to bring me lunch…” Zen winks, amping up his charm in an attempt to mask his fatigue. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

 

The actress blinks, confusion etched across her face. “…it’s Seo-yun.”

 

By 5 PM, the entire production team and Seo-yun agree that Zen definitely needs a break, and the director grants him the next two days off. Zen is far too mortified to refuse.

 

“ _You called your co-star Elizabeth?!_ Oh my god, Zen!” Seven wheezes with laughter over the phone while Zen buries his face into his hand on the cab ride home. “Well, isn’t this good though? You got a vacation out of your humiliation from today!”

 

“The director said that I should still rehearse as much as possible at home, but I absolutely cannot push myself anymore,” Zen groans into the phone. “Can you believe that? This is all Jumin’s fault!”

 

“My, my, Zen…complaining about getting a break from work…I wish I got a break,” Seven mock-sobs. “And that’s no way to talk about your _husband._ Pretend I’m interviewing you!” He clears his throat dramatically then continues in a high-pitched voice. “Handsome Zen! Please tell us about your newfound husband, Jumin Han! Is he really the ice prince everyone thinks he is?!”

 

Zen stares out the window of the cab miserably. “Jumin may seem cold on the outside,” he says in a monotone voice, “but he is an honest, hardworking individual who deserves the utmost respect. Being the heir to such a major corporation, he must bear much pressure for the sake of the success of his company, but he is just as willing to shower his unconditional love on his beloved…”

 

“Zen,” Seven whines, “that wasn’t convincing at all.”

 

“ _He’s_ not being convincing at all!” Zen cries out. “He comes home later than promised, he ignores me to do his damn paperwork, and he leaves for work without giving me a damn goodbye kiss!”

 

“Whoa!” Seven exclaims, taken aback. “Hell hath no fury like a husband scorned —”

 

“He’s the one who proposed this stupid idea in the first place and now he’s not even taking it seriously! Gah…I feel like I’m being played,” Zen sighs, rubbing his eyes. Why is he getting so worked up about it anyways?

 

“Well, you have the next couple days off, right?” Seven mumbles through his chips. “How about you ask Jumin if he can take a quick vacation too? Then you two can actually try being a married couple, just like you want to.”

 

“Hearing you say it like that makes me shudder,” Zen groans. “I don’t know if he would listen to me, but yeah, I’ll try. Oh…I just realized I haven’t signed into the messenger for a while. How are the others doing?”

 

“Yoosung’s still in disbelief that you two are actually going through with it. Oh, and Jaehee logged in earlier to wish you the best of luck! She’s very shocked but she says that if it’s beneficial to your career, she’ll do anything in her power to support you — even if that means working extra hours.”

 

Zen smiles. “That is far too kind of her to say. I’ll make sure to thank her when I get the chance.”

 

“Oh! And V also wishes good luck to the both of you.”

 

Zen freezes, one hand clutching his seatbelt. “…V _what?!_ V saw the…the messages…? _Oh god_.”

 

Seven snickers, enjoying Zen’s suffering far too much. “Yup! He dropped by the messenger to tell us that he was going to be in an area without reception for a few days again, but he read the previous conversations. Anyways, he asked you to take good care of Jumin for him.”

 

“Ha…ha…right,” Zen replies miserably as he notices the cab slow to a stop. He peeks out the window. “Ugh, I’ll never get used to how ridiculously huge this jerk’s home is. Anyways, I’ll ask him about taking the next couple days off. Talk to you later, Seven.”

 

By the time he returns to the bedroom, it’s already slightly past 6 PM and Zen falls onto the bed, exhausted and hungry. He drifts off several times, fingers loosely gripping onto his cell phone in case Jumin calls or texts. The clock rolls past 6:30. Now 7:41. Now 8:11…Zen closes his eyes again. _Goddammit. I really am being played._

 

“Zen…?”

 

Zen lifts his head wearily. Jumin stands in the doorway, looking more confused than usual. “I just finished work and my chef alerted me that you didn’t come down to eat dinner.”

 

The piling frustration throughout the day quickly blows away the cloudy sleepiness in Zen’s mind. “Yeah, well,” he hisses, sitting up, “ _someone_ seems to think that being married means working all day and barely seeing your husband at all. Is this what the viewers want to see? Hell no! The least we could do is have dinner together, and we can barely even do that because you’re so awfully late! I bet you didn’t even look at the clock, did you?” Zen shakes his head, panting from all the rambling he’s doing. “Are you even trying at this point?”

 

Jumin narrows his eyes and pulls at his tie to loosen it. “I _am_ trying.”

 

Zen snorts. “Oh, and how, exactly, are you trying?”

 

“The reason why I ended work unusually late today,” Jumin murmurs as he approaches the bed. The mattress dips as Jumin’s knee presses into it, and Jumin slowly leans towards Zen, casting a shadow over Zen’s body. “…is because I stayed to finish all of the paperwork for the week so I could free my schedule for the next couple of days.”

 

Zen’s pulse surges at the proximity of their bodies and the grey of Jumin’s eyes unyieldingly seize his ability to breathe. “O-oh…” he manages to gasp. _He deliberately went out of his way to make sure he could spend time with me, he was planning this for who knows how long…god, now I_ ** _’m_** _the asshole here._

 

“W-well,” Zen sheepishly replies, “I, um, have the next two days off too. So…I guess that works out.”

 

“Hm.” The tension seems to lift as Jumin pulls back slightly with an amused expression. “So you’re quite willing to take this seriously as well.”

 

“I’m willing to take anything seriously if it concerns my career,” Zen grumbles, slightly embarrassed, and nudges Jumin away to slide off of the bed. “N-Now let me try your rich person food. I’m hungry.”

 

He tries not to notice how the grey in Jumin’s eyes seem to warm and soften.

 

——————————————

 

“God, there really is no way I could ever eat this stuff every single day of my life,” Zen mumbles as he forcefully jabs his fork into a slab of steak.

 

Jumin gently swirls the wine in his glass and tilts his head, bemused. “What food do you usually have?”

 

“Well,” Zen ceases the assault of his food and leans back into his chair to ponder. “I can cook decently well but sometimes when I come home and I’m really tired, I just kinda heat whatever’s in the freezer…”

 

“Whatever’s in the freezer?”

 

“Yeah, like…instant meals and the sort…” Zen rubs the back of his neck. “Of course, I don’t do it too often. Even with my amazing metabolism and recovery times, that stuff would totally destroy my skin. And my overall health.”

 

“Instant…meals? There is such an invention?”

 

“Huh?” Zen’s eyes widen. This guy has seriously never heard of instant meals before? “Yeah, the kind of stuff college kids like Yoosung live off of — like instant ramen? Or sometimes they’re other foods packed in little trays and you just pop them into the microwave.”

 

Jumin’s eyes light up curiously. “How fascinating. I’d like to try one of these instant meals someday.”

 

Zen can’t help but laugh. He almost feels sorry for how sheltered the trust fund kid is. “Sure, you can come over sometime and I’ll feed you whatever junk food you want.”

 

...huh? Did he just invite Jumin Han to his apartment? No way, it wasn’t a friendly gesture or anything like that — he was just feeling apologetic for the misunderstanding from earlier in the evening.

 

“I’ll make sure to schedule a time to do that, then.” A ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of Jumin’s lips, and Zen’s breath hitches. _More,_ his mind seems to cry out involuntarily, _I want to see more —_

 

“Uh, yeah…sure,” Zen finally manages to utter, staring down at his plate. What was that? And this pressure in his chest…? He clears his throat and shakes his head. “Anyways, I’m not, um…feeling too well, so I might turn in early. Thanks for the meal.” The legs of his chair make a painful screech when he rises too abruptly from his chair and Zen winces at the noise.

 

Jumin blinks, setting down his wine glass and standing up as well. “Is something the matter, Zen?” he asks with narrowed eyes.

 

“Uh, nothing really, just…there’s a weird pressure in my chest. I didn’t get much sleep last night, so that might be why,” Zen explains. Of course, that’s it! The exhaustion was just getting to him, nothing more.

 

“Pressure?” Jumin echoes, crossing his arms in thought. “Perhaps you’re stressed. Is it because of your work?”

 

Zen pauses to consider this newly proposed theory for a moment. “Huh, you might actually be right,” he mumbles. “Maybe going through my lines one more time before bed will lift some of the pressure.” Seems like not _all_ of Jumin’s ideas are awful all of the time.

 

“I could help you practice your lines,” Jumin offers, suddenly cutting into Zen’s thoughts.

 

“Practice my…huh?” Zen’s eyes widen. “ _You_ want to help me practice my lines?”

 

Jumin takes his seat once more and sighs. “Well, our progress as a married couple doesn’t seem to getting anywhere anyways, so we might as well be productive in an alternative way.” Ugh, business logic as always with this guy. “Wouldn’t it be more helpful to have an audience?”

 

Zen lets out a defeated groan. “Yeah, sure, but my typical audience isn’t made up of 27-year-old corporate heirs. Well, whatever. Hold onto your fancy suit while I go grab the script.”

 

“My fancy suit…?” Jumin quietly murmurs when Zen heads out of the door to the dining room and the younger man can’t help but chuckle. He doesn’t need to glance back to know that there’s a tiny crease forming between Jumin’s eyebrows, as it always does whenever Jumin is perplexed.

 

Zen returns to find the table devoid of all plates and silverware — thanks to Jumin’s servants, he presumes — with only the center flower vase remaining. Somehow, the sight of Jumin sitting before him with nothing on the table to distract him from Zen’s presence makes the actor swell with egotism. With a flourish, he tosses the script onto the table in front of Jumin.

 

Jumin’s gaze rests on the text. “Don’t you need this?” the older man asks, frowning.

 

“Of course not, it’s for _you_ to follow along,” Zen crows. “Even my skills can’t make up for the lack of context.” Jumin grunts, seemingly not paying attention to Zen’s reply, and picks up the script to flip through it.

 

“Page 47, act II, scene 3. Don’t let your heart be captured too easily by my acting, okay?” Zen smirks as he stands on the carpet in front of Jumin. The corporate heir remains silent. _Damn, he’s no fun._ Zen clears his throat and breathes in deeply.

 

“My love, please understand.” His head drops when his voice breaks just slightly with emotion and his hand naturally flies up to grasp the fabric over his chest. He hears his director’s words from earlier today echo in his head. _Slow down a bit here._

 

“My feelings for you run deeper than the valleys of the earth we stand on. I know that fate is cruel and that we must part ways soon but…my love…I never want to let you go.” Zen curses inwardly. _Damn, the flow of that last part is still slightly off. Just what was he doing wrong —_

 

“Then don’t.” Zen’s head snaps up at the sound of Jumin’s quiet voice. His heart jumps when he meets Jumin’s gaze. “Don’t ever let go,” Jumin murmurs.

 

“…ha…h-huh?” Zen manages to shakily laugh.

 

Jumin pauses for a moment before sighing as he briskly taps the script with the back of his hand. “It’s the line of the lead female character. I told you I’d be helping you practice.”

 

“Oh! Right!” Zen exclaims more loudly than he intends. _Shit, what was I thinking that was?! Of course it’s just the line written on the script!_ He clears his throat again. “Then, I will, uh, continue.” Jumin responds with a nonchalant nod.

 

“Although I cannot be certain what the future may hold, I promise you this,” Zen says slowly, holding Jumin’s gaze. The pressure inside of his chest is replaced with a strange warmth instead — perhaps he was starting to resonate more deeply with his character. “I promise I will return to your side, and when I do, I will be yours forevermore. So, my love…will you promise me that you will wait for me?” _Yes!_ Zen cheers in his mind, suppressing a proud grin. _I nailed it this time!_

 

Zen stares back expectantly, certain that he has impressed Jumin. The older man simply tilts his head, eyes never leaving Zen’s.

 

“Yes, I promise,” Jumin finally replies softly. “I will wait for you here, no matter how long it takes.”

 

Zen’s breath catches in his throat yet again and he wills his heart to stop pounding so wildly. What is this? The adrenaline rush from acting?

 

 _Must be,_ Zen hastily concludes, tearing his eyes away from Jumin’s. _It has to be. There’s no other explanation._

 

“Uh, y’know, on second thought, I’m not really feeling up to it,” he quickly mumbles, grabbing the script off of the table. “I must be more tired than I thought. I’ll just turn in early then.” Zen briskly makes his way towards the door before Jumin’s hand darts out and catches his wrist.

 

“Wait. I’ll go too.”

 

Zen stares back at Jumin. “Go…where?”

 

Jumin frowns. “To bed, of course. It’s been a long day for me as well.”

 

The actor pulls his wrist free and sighs. Exhaustion washes over him and dulls any objections he might have had. “Fine, do whatever you want. Just let me get some rest.” Jumin nods in understanding.

 

Zen doesn’t think he’s ever been so glad to be in Jumin’s bedroom, but with the promise of a restful night’s worth of his long-awaited beauty sleep, he honestly can’t wait to be in bed. As he’s brushing his teeth, Jumin joins him in the massive bathroom, brushing his teeth beside the lighter-haired man. Zen doesn’t bother stopping him, resolving to simply stare straight ahead at his reflection.

 

“Although I am already quite aware of your prowess as an actor, I must agree with Assistant Kang,” Jumin finally says, glancing over at Zen’s reflection. “Your acting is remarkable.”

 

Zen snorts. “Despite your awful social skills, you’re a surprisingly decent actor yourself.”

 

Jumin’s toothbrush stops moving. “Me?”

 

“Yeah,” Zen mutters, picking up his cup to rinse his mouth. “It’s almost like you’ve actually watched a few soap operas.”

 

“…I _have_ watched a few soap operas.”

 

Zen makes a choking noise and spews out the water in his mouth into the sink, gripping onto the marble edge for support. “You?! Jumin Han watches soap operas?!”

 

“Why is that so shocking to you?” Jumin frowns, calmly removing Zen’s towel from the rack and tossing it. “And clean yourself up.”

 

“Just imagining you,” Zen coughs as he catches the towel and wipes at his mouth, “lounging on the couch, enjoying some melodramatic romance TV show…is just about the most absurd imagery in the world…”

 

“You’re missing the important detail that is Elizabeth 3rd being on the couch with me,” Jumin’s reply is muffled as he pats at his mouth with a towel. He turns to scowl at Zen. “Are you insinuating that I am incapable of being romantic?”

 

“Yes, and I know from personal experience that you aren’t romantic in the least,” Zen sighs, rolling his eyes.

 

“I believe you’d be quite surprised by how romantic I can be.” Jumin narrows his eyes menacingly.

 

“Really, now?” Zen scoffs. He glares back at Jumin. “Prove it.”

 

The words barely escape Zen’s lips when Jumin seizes Zen’s wrist and yanks him towards the bedroom. Zen yelps, dropping his towel onto the floor next to Jumin’s, and skitters forward to follow the other man. In one swift motion, Jumin flicks the lights off and pulls Zen into the bed with him, throwing the blankets onto them and smoothly encircling Zen’s waist with his arms to draw Zen’s back up against his chest. His fingertips measure the way the heat of Zen’s skin underneath the clothing skyrockets and he smirks at the reaction. Before Zen can react, Jumin deals the final blow by pressing his lips against the nape of Zen’s neck, taking in the scent of Zen’s shampoo. Fresh mint, with just the slightest hint of coconut.

 

“How is that for romantic?"Jumin breathes against Zen’s skin, and he delights in the way he can sense Zen suppress a shiver.

 

“You…” Zen gasps, cheeks beginning to flush uncontrollably. “You…!”

 

“Mhm?” Jumin purrs the response, finding himself far too eager to elicit more reactions from the man in his arms. Why was he so intrigued?

 

“Alright, alright, fine, you win!” Zen cries, arms and legs writhing underneath the blankets. “You can be smooth as shit, great for you! So you can let go now!”

 

Jumin sighs and pulls his lips away from Zen’s neck, but doesn’t budge his arms. “I told you, you’ll have to make up for Elizabeth 3rd’s absence. Besides, didn’t you say earlier that you were stressed?”

 

“I am stressed,” Zen replies, still slightly out of breath. “In fact, I’m even _more_ stressed now.”

 

Jumin’s eyes close halfway, gazing upon the soft strands of hair on the back of Zen’s head. “Isn’t the warmth of another person, especially a loved one, known to be comforting?”

 

“Really? Well, don’t get used it.” The tight muscles within Zen’s body begin to unwind with a sigh. “I don’t have the energy to deal with you…just shut up and go to sleep,” Zen mutters under his breath. “Good night, asshole.”

 

Jumin lets his eyes flutter closed, but not without relishing one last time in Zen’s warmth, which pulses, breathes, trembles — and fits so perfectly in his arms.

 

 _Don’t get used to it_. Zen’s words echo as his mind drifts. Of course. In less than 48 hours’ time, he’ll return to his usual, dull, lonely life. _Lonely…?_

 

“Good night, Zen.”


	4. We're Getting the Hang of Being Married

_Feet…cold._

 

Zen’s groggy, half-awake mind eagerly provides a solution. _Right…warm._

 

“Mm,” Zen exhales, turning over and instinctively pushing closer towards the source of warmth. His senses faintly pick up the comforting scent that accompanies the warmth. Some kind of herb? Sage…and citrus…? It’s nice.

 

Zen’s eyes open blearily, red pupils hovering upwards. When they focus, he finds himself gazing directly into Jumin’s eyes.

 

“Good morning,” Jumin murmurs.

 

“Ggghhk!” Zen makes an unintelligible noise, fumbling backwards. Jumin’s fingers lace together behind Zen’s waist to keep him from moving too far and Zen curses, having forgotten that Jumin’s arms were still around him.

 

Jumin closes his eyes and sighs. “Don’t make such a fuss right after you wake up.”

 

“Wha…what time is it?” Zen stammers, brain still processing his situation.

 

“Why does it matter? Enjoy your first day off,” Jumin mutters in a low, irritated voice. He pulls Zen even closer and Zen’s knee bumps into something…hard?

 

Zen’s subsequent scream is of horror movie caliber and both men tumble off of the bed in sheer alarm, landing on opposite sides.

 

Jumin scrambles upright, eyes wide. “What was that all about?” he growls angrily. “You’ll upset Elizabeth 3rd!”

 

“I tou — I touched —” Zen babbles, making ridiculous hand gestures.

 

“That,” Jumin sighs in irritation and rubs his temples, “was my knee.”

 

A supremely awkward silence hangs in the room.

 

“Your…knee?” Zen’s face turns even redder. “I…oh… _oh._ I mean, of course it was! I just don’t like the idea of touching you at all!” He stands up too quickly and makes an ungraceful show of nearly tripping over the edge of the blanket.

 

Jumin folds his arms and scowls. “And just who was the one burrowing his way into my chest earlier?”

 

“ _Anyways,_ I need to use the bathroom!” Zen announces loudly, dashing past Jumin. The door clicks shut and Jumin can imagine the way Zen must be silently yelling at himself right now. He shakes his head, sighing, and quietly visits Elizabeth’s room to seek solace for his headache.

 

“Just calm down and breathe, Zen,” Zen mutters around his toothbrush. “You were sleepy and disoriented, whatever just happened most definitely did not count as cuddling —”

 

His nose twitches. Sage and citrus…he peers at the opposite corner of the sink. An expensive-looking black bottle. Cologne…Jumin’s cologne.

 

Zen nearly chokes on his toothpaste and squeezes his eyes shut in reflex. He must be going crazy. His fingers grasp at his phone and he cracks one eye open to check the time. 11:28.

 

Zen groans. He hasn’t slept in this late in a long time. _God, if I went to bed at around midnight…I slept for eleven whole hours…_

 

_Eleven whole hours…in Jumin’s arms._

 

“ _Aargh!”_ Zen yells again, slapping a hand onto his face. “ _Fuck that Jumin Han!”_

 

A muffled cough on the other side of the door. “Isn’t that moving a bit too fast for you?”

 

It takes every fiber of his being for Zen not to murder Jumin right there and then.

 

By lunch, Zen’s tapping his foot impatiently and running his fingers along the rim of his glass of orange juice. Jumin glares across the table at Zen, clearly finding the distractions terribly obnoxious.

 

“Have you never learned any table manners?” Jumin mutters.

 

Zen rolls his eyes. “I’m your husband; I don’t _need_ table manners around you. More importantly, don’t you ever get bored around here?”

 

Jumin raises an eyebrow. “Bored…? Is the food not to your liking?”

 

“No, no! The food’s great, this…” Zen wrinkles his nose, poking at his plate with a knife. “…whatever bird’s egg this is. Anyways, what I mean is, you’ve got this gigantic building to yourself, but what can you even do in it?”

 

The corporate heir pauses for a moment to ponder. “There’s very little you cannot do in here. There is a gym on one of the lower floors along with a clothing shop. My personal chef can make any dish upon request, and should you need entertainment, I believe there is also a private theatre below —”

 

“ _I mean,_ ” Zen cuts Jumin off firmly, “what do _you_ do with all of this, Jumin?”

 

“Oh.” Jumin blinks. “Come to think of it, I…don’t use any of those facilities very often. After work, I only use the office, this dining room, and my bedroom, really.”

 

Zen tosses his hands up in the air. “That’s exactly it! Everything here is so excessive especially with the way you’re utterly obsessed with your work! What’s so great about it anyways? Do you get a kick out of working your employees to the ground?”

 

Jumin narrows his eyes, setting down his fork. “No. I ‘get a kick’ out of seeing the success of my company.”

 

“God, I don’t know how Jaehee deals with you,” Zen groans, pushing his chair back. “Or how any of your employees deal with you on a daily basis.”

 

A cryptic look settles in Jumin’s eyes. “Would you like to see?”

 

Zen frowns. “See what?”

 

“My workplace. And my employees, if you so wish.”

 

Zen stares back at Jumin. The C&R International headquarters? But…

 

“Then I will contact Driver Kim to prepare to take us there,” Jumin continues, tapping a request into his phone. He glances up — and seems all too terribly pleased with himself.

 

“I’m not going there to work,” Jumin explains, voice softly tinged with amusement. “I will simply be showing you around. I still have the day off, of course, so don’t look so concerned.”

 

Plates clatter as Zen’s foot hits the leg of the table. “I did not look concerned!” Zen cries, trying to mask the rising blush in his cheeks behind pure volume. “I — I was just thinking that I need to speak with Jaehee anyways!”

 

“…you need to speak with Assistant Kang?”

 

Zen tilts his head. _What’s with that look?_ “Yeah.”

 

“Is this something that cannot be said in the chatroom?” Jumin’s eyes narrow and he crosses his arms. “Can I not relay this message to her myself?”

 

Zen’s heart rate speeds up. _Holy shit. No way._

 

“Jumin,” Zen says slowly and deliberately with a triumphant grin, “…are you _jealous?”_

 

Jumin’s pretentiously embroidered napkin stops at the corner of his mouth. Zen expects some kind of irritated retort, but what he doesn’t expect is this solemn silence that hangs in the air. The grey of Jumin’s eyes seems to darken, and Zen gulps.

 

The low growl of a reply immediately sends shivers down Zen’s spine. “And if I am?”

 

“You…!” Zen stammers, hands clenched in a silent prayer for his heart to stop pounding. “You…um, you…” He struggles to formulate the words for a smooth comeback. “Er, you’re in luck, actually! You see, despite what you might think, I am a very faithful lover and an even more faithful husband, so rest assured.” He smirks. If Jumin wants to play at this flirting game, no doubt Zen can outdo this strait-laced jerk.

 

“Oh?” Jumin purrs. “That’s good to hear. Or else I might have to think of ways to show everyone that you’re mine.”

 

Zen’s mind races and his toes curl. A way to show everyone that he was Jumin’s? Heat charges his nerves and the sensation rushes in all directions, coloring Zen’s cheeks a bright red. Something stirs inside of him. Oh my god. _Oh my god._

 

He stands up so quickly that he nearly hits his knee. “Uh, y’know, before we go, I think I’m gonna have a quick smoke. I’ll be right back.”

 

Jumin frowns and rises as well. “Smoke?”

 

Zen runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Yeah, a smoke. You know what smoking is, right?”

 

“Of course I do. And I will be having none of that.”

 

Zen groans. “Yeah, I know, I know! I’m not stupid enough to smoke in the house. I’ll go outside and you can meet me there when you’re ready.”

 

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Jumin leaves his seat and closes the distance between them, pupils trained on Zen and rooting him there. “I will not have a smoker for a husband.”

 

“Okay, okay, keep preaching away,” Zen laughs, pulling out a small box from inside of his coat and plucking one cigarette out of it. “Look, I’m not going to be your husband permanently, so you don’t have to pretend to be concerned about my habits. Plus, just what are you going to do to stop me?” The corners of mouth can’t help but to curl upwards in a grin, a challenge flashing in his eyes. Blood rushes in his ears and he can feel his pulse in his throat; just why does he want to provoke Jumin so badly?

 

Jumin snatches and tosses the cigarette away at an incredible speed and, before Zen can react, long, tapered fingers twine with those of the actor. “Bad habits like smoking deserve punishment,” Jumin simply murmurs.

 

“Really now?” Zen’s breaths shorten in anticipation. There’s a crescendoing heartbeat — but who it belongs to, neither can be sure of as the two seem to press closer. “You think you can punish me?”

 

Jumin’s eyes narrow and a growl rumbles in his throat, a brief warning, before his hands seize Zen’s wrists. Zen yelps as Jumin pushes him back and back, until he feels his wrists hit the wood of the door to the dining room.

 

“I don’t _think_ I can punish you, Zen,” Jumin speaks lowly against Zen’s ear. “I _know_ I can.”

 

 _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,_ Zen’s mind blabbers nonsensically, hurling itself into overdrive. _I want — I want him to —_

 

A loud knock reverberates against Zen’s spine. “Excuse me, Mr. Han. Driver Kim has arrived to escort you and Mr. Zen.”

 

“Oh — _oh my god, Jumin!”_ Zen screams under his breath and slaps his hand onto Jumin’s face in panic, attempting to push him away. Did Jumin’s driver hear…? Oh my god. Zen swears he’s on the verge of passing out.

 

“Hm,” Jumin grunts underneath Zen’s palm before readjusting his tie and smoothing out his suit. He raises an eyebrow at Zen. “Well, now you know what happens when you try to smoke.”

 

Zen clamps a hand over his own mouth, simply staring back at Jumin in sheer horror. “I never want to smoke another cig in my life again,” he wheezes in disbelief, temperature rising in his cheeks. Did that…did that just happen…

 

“Good. It seems that I’m better for you than any quitting smokers’ association.”

 

Zen is even closer to murdering Jumin that he was in the morning.

 

——————————————

 

“…Mr. Han?”

 

Jaehee peers at the corporate heir from around the conference room door with a bewildered look in her eye. Jumin gives a curt nod. “Assistant Kang.”

 

Zen awkwardly smiles and waves. “Hiya, Jaehee.”

 

“Zen, too…I thought you both were on vacation?” she asks, adjusting her glasses. Zen winces; there are visible bags underneath her eyes.

 

“We are,” Jumin replies, “I was simply showing Zen around the office.” He tilts his head, concern coloring his expression. “Have there been any problems with the new project?”

 

Jaehee hesitates for a moment, then sighs. “Unfortunately, yes. I believe the marketing team mentioned that they were having some trouble.”

 

“Understood. I’ll head over there immediately.”

 

Zen’s eyes widen. “Wait, you _said_ —”

 

A soft smile crosses Jumin’s lips, and the older man places a hand on Zen’s shoulder. He leans in close. _Sage and citrus_. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

 

Zen finds himself rendered speechless and, by the time he manages to gather himself, Jumin has already entered the elevator. The actor stares at the numbers above the doors light up and stop at the seventh floor.

 

“I’m very impressed by how well you two appear to be getting along now.”

 

Zen is abruptly snapped back into reality. “Oh! Uh, yeah. I mean, we’re not at each other’s throats anymore, I guess.”

 

“It must be thanks to your brilliant acting and professionalism, Zen,” Jaehee praises, her face brightening.

 

“Ahaha, is that so?” Zen rubs the back of his neck and smiles back. “Oh, that’s right! I wanted to thank you, Jaehee. For always supporting me, no matter what.”

 

Jaehee blinks. “O-Oh! Of course, Zen. It is my greatest honor as your fan to support you in this way.”

 

Zen frowns. “I’m a bit concerned about your lack of sleep though. That Jumin jerk, always…”

 

“It may be very easy to see Mr. Han that way,” Jaehee says softly, smiling. “But look at how he still rushes to help his employees, even when he worked countless hours before in order to obtain this vacation. He doesn’t like letting other people see it, but he works even harder than we do.”

 

Zen’s features soften and his gaze drops down to the carpet. “Huh…I…I guess I never really thought of that.”

 

“I believe in you, Zen.” Jaehee’s hands fold neatly on top of her skirt as she encourages him. “I believe that you will see Mr. Han for who he really is, and, as always, I believe in your extraordinary skills to take your career to new heights.” She bows respectfully. “My apologies, but I have a meeting to attend soon. Please excuse me.”

 

Zen nods. “Jaehee…thank you. Again,” he laughs. With a new sparkling vitality in her brown eyes, she gives a small wave and disappears into the conference room.

 

“Why don’t _I_ ever get a ‘thank you’ from you?”

 

Yelping in surprise, Zen spins around to face Jumin, who seems mildly disgruntled. “God, you scared me!” Zen exclaims, then glowers at the corporate heir. “You’ll get your ‘thank you’ when you do something that deserves it.”

 

“Hm,” Jumin thrums, frowning. “What were you and Assistant Kang discussing?”

 

Jaehee’s words echo in Zen’s head. _I believe that you will see Mr. Han for who he really is._ “That’s a secret,” Zen finally says with a smirk. “But don’t worry.” He teasingly flicks the tip of Jumin’s nose. “I’m still yours, _babe_. Anyways, you’re done here, right? Let’s go home.”

 

Jumin blinks, briefly startled. Home…the penthouse? It’s just a place for him to sleep in but…

 

He smiles. “Yes…let’s go home.”

 

——————————————

 

A soft clink as a fork is gently placed onto the empty plate. “Y’know, I guess you’re not _all_ bad.”

 

Jumin’s lips pause at the edge of his wine glass. “…pardon?”

 

Zen pouts and folds his arms, reluctant to repeat himself but does so anyways. “I _said_ , I guess you’re not all bad. I know about how you work your ass off for your company. Even more than Jaehee does, insanely enough.”

 

A pause. “Ah. Well, I am only doing what’s best for the company. It’s nothing particularly admirable.”

 

“Of course it’s admirable!” Zen cries in bewilderment, abruptly standing up in indignation. “Er, well, I don’t mean ‘admirable’ as in I admire you, but — what I’m saying is…” He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “…you deserve to have some fun on your vacation.”

 

“Hm.” Jumin raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone has a date in mind.”

 

Zen flushes. “Not a date! Just — let me ask, how many of this stupidly huge building’s downstairs luxuries have you actually used?”

 

Jumin takes a moment to contemplate. “I was inside of the gym once,” he finally answers.

 

Zen rubs his temples in exasperation. “Right. So you haven’t used any of it. Okay.” He places his hands on his hips and inhales. “Well, I propose that we put those facilities to use. For your sake and for the sake of my career, let’s have some fun tonight, Jumin.”

 

“Those facilities…fun?” Jumin has never looked so puzzled before. “…if that is what you wish.”

 

Zen grins and grasps Jumin by the hand, pulling him out of his seat. “Then let’s go, trust fund kid.”

 

Expensive clothes after expensive clothes line the walls of the second floor of Jumin’s home. Zen’s jaw drops at the sheer amount of cloth in one place (and he finds the fact that most of the clothes were in various striped patterns both infuriating and endearing). He tries on a few of the suits for fun, taking more time than necessary to admire his reflection. He makes a note to himself to definitely rock suits more often.

 

A few moments later, Zen’s eyes sparkle at the sight of the equipment in the gym and Jumin leans against a wall, completely unfazed. As Zen is lost in his own little world, fiddling with the settings on the treadmill, Jumin begins to wonder why he agreed to play along — until he feels Zen’s hand excitedly grasp his own. His gaze snaps up to the lighter-haired man before him, who stares back at him eagerly.

 

“What the hell, you never told me you had a damn arcade too!” Zen cries, feet shuffling in anticipation. He points to the opposite side of the floor, where bright, garish lights flash. _Had that always been there?_ “Come on, let me kick your ass at DDR!”

 

Jumin’s brow furrows. “…‘DDR?’”

 

Zen huffs at Jumin’s lack of knowledge. “Dance Dance Revolution! God, you’re hopeless. Look, I’ll teach you; just hurry up!”

 

Jumin finds out that night that Zen is willing to teach him a lot of other things too — how to kill zombies in that old shooter game, how to defeat that cursed crane machine, and, most importantly, how to play that tiring dancing game. Jumin learns that Zen is stunning when he dances, and he learns that Zen is stunningly awful at poker.

 

Above all, Jumin learns that all those rooms he found so boring and lonely before are somehow brighter and livelier when Zen is in them.

 

“Whew!” Zen exhales, falling onto the soft mattress of their bed upon return. “Nothing works up a sweat quite like dancing does! I still can’t believe you never played before.”

 

“I’m quite surprised myself by how dreadful you are at poker,” Jumin calmly retaliates, removing his tie.

 

Zen flips over onto his stomach and frowns. “Okay, fine, you might’ve had me there but I totally kicked your ass at literally everything else.”

 

Jumin reluctantly grunts in agreement before heading towards the door of the bedroom. Zen tilts his head inquisitively. “Where are you going?”

 

A low mutter. “Saying good night to Elizabeth 3rd.”

 

Zen expects himself to snort, but he finds a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth instead. “Right, okay. There’s no way in hell I’m going anywhere near her unless you’ve got the ER on speed dial, but…tell her good night for me, too.”

 

Jumin’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “…I’m sure she will be very pleased to hear that.” He nods and smiles back at Zen. “Then while I do that, go wash up for bed before me. I’ll be right back.”

 

When he returns, he finds Zen in his sleepwear but still wide awake and humming, flipping through what Jumin presumes is his script. He sighs, but not without fondness, and clears his throat to catch Zen’s attention. “Aren’t you exhausted from all that dancing?”

 

“Didn’t you know? Dancing has the opposite effect on me,” Zen whines, closing his script. “All that adrenaline stays in my system for a while and keeps me awake. Just another remarkable thing my body does, I guess.”

 

“Is that so?” Jumin thumbs at his upper lip in thought. “Then wait here. I have an idea.”

 

Zen stares at him in horror. “You’re not going to try and poison me or something, are you?”

 

Jumin chuckles. “No. Just be patient.”

 

He cleans up quickly in the bathroom and turns off the ceiling lights of the bedroom, leaving only the bedside lamp aglow. Zen watches him curiously as the older man rummages through a drawer and produces a small red book.

 

Jumin glances at Zen, a soft look resting in his eyes. “Can I read to you?”

 

Zen feels the color rise in his cheeks and, quickly sinking into the mattress, he pulls the covers upwards. “Um, yeah…sure,” he mumbles underneath the blanket, bright red pupils sheepishly meeting the serene grey of Jumin’s.

 

The low rumble of Jumin’s voice lulls Zen into a comfortable tranquility. He catches a few parts of the story — something about being lonely on a shelf, then being picked up…the story remains unfinished as Jumin’s voice grows quieter and quieter. Zen sleepily peeks at Jumin, whose features are softly illuminated by the yellow-orange glow of the lamp.

 

“That book…did Rika give it to you?”

 

Jumin seems surprised, swiftly closing the book and gazing into Zen’s eyes. “Yes…yes, she did. How did you know?”

 

“It just sounds like a story she would tell,” Zen says with a small, sad smile. “She probably gave it to you because she thought you were lonely.”

 

Jumin’s eyes close. “Perhaps. She always was so very perceptive. The fact that I still cannot bring myself to finish this book…probably means that I am still as lonely as she thought I was back then.”

 

 _So he was lonely all along._ Zen’s chest tightens and his breath hitches. In a sluggish effort, he sits up to face Jumin. A long silence, counted in heartbeats, passes between the two. The world seems to still as only the sounds of their breathing reach their ears. Then, the soft shuffle of sheets breaks the quiet rhythm as Zen instinctively leans forward to gently press his lips against Jumin’s.

 

The chaste kiss is shy and curious, lasting only seconds — yet the feeling lingers desperately on Zen’s lips when he pulls away. He shakily exhales, eyes half-lidded. Before he can take another breath and allow his brain to catch up with his actions, the mattress shifts as Jumin presses closer to Zen. Zen’s eyes flutter closed reflexively, and he feels Jumin’s lips first brush against his own yet again, then travel to the tip of nose, and finally caress his forehead.

 

Zen’s heart speeds up uncontrollably, as if abruptly reminding him of his purpose for being in this situation in the first place. “Uh…! Um,” Zen stammers, “you’re, uh, really catching on quickly with this whole married couple act!” His hands tightly clench at the sheets. _What am I saying?_ “I figured I’d test you, but it looks like you’re just fine!” _Wait, that’s not…_

 

Jumin’s eyes seem to harden and he pulls back. “…yes, of course. It appears that we should be able to put on a convincing performance on the show, after all.”

 

Zen winces on the inside at how suddenly businesslike Jumin’s voice sounds. Why does it hurt to hear him like this? Isn’t this the Jumin he’d always known?

 

“You seem rather tired now. It’s about time we went to sleep,” Jumin continues. A quiet click as the lamp is switched off, and the room is bathed in the dark hues of the night.

 

“Good night, Zen,” Jumin murmurs. Ah, that gentle voice — that’s the Jumin that he…

 

Zen pulls the blankets closer. _The Jumin that I…what?_ He buries his nose into the pillow, an uneasy throbbing rising in his chest.

 

_That’s the Jumin that I kissed._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, reader(s)! I apologize for how long it took to me to upload this chapter compared to the others; a lot has happened in between and I am now diving into exam season, so updates might be on the slow side.
> 
> Amusingly enough, this fic started as something I planned to write for pure comedy's sake, but it has evolved into something a bit more emotional. So, if you predict that this might end up reading like a heartfelt K-drama, you are most likely correct. Please enjoy the ride.
> 
> Anyways, I am sincerely grateful to all of you who are continuing to read this fic. I simply cannot thank y'all enough!
> 
> UPDATE 1/11/17: Hello and happy new year, reader(s)! I sincerely apologize for how long it has been since the last update. It's been a very hectic winter and I've been out of the country without internet -- but enough with the excuses, lol. I have had the outline for this entire fic planned since its conception, and according to that, we are very, very close to the finale. Thus, although I am busy with the start of the new quarter, I will do my best to write as often and as much as I can! Again, I'm sorry for the long silence and all the dust collecting on this fic, and I hope to see those of you still willing to read in the next update!


	5. We're Almost Married

With the slivers of late morning sunlight sidling up the edges of the blanket, Zen finally stirs. He yawns and groggily flips over to check on Jumin. Jumin…who isn’t there.

 

Zen’s senses immediately flare to life, eyes wide open. The palms of his hands dart outwards to feel the sheets on Jumin’s side of the bed. _Cold._ Memories of their exchange last night rush back to the forefront of Zen’s mind. _Oh no, no, I screwed up,_ Zen’s mind frantically supplies, _I kissed him and I told him that it was because I was testing his acting, but it wasn’t, it was —_

 

The sheets bunch up in his grip. _It was…what? Why did I kiss him?_

 

Zen stares at the mess of blankets below him. It…couldn’t be…

 

“You’re awake.”

 

Startled, Zen sits up abruptly and his eyes snap up to the doorway, where Jumin simply blinks back at him. There’s a sharp intake of breath from Zen, as if he’s prepared to say something, but his gaze drops down to the tray in Jumin’s hand. Decadent, fluffy pancakes topped with strawberries along with plates of picture-perfect sausages and eggs are laden across the tray.

 

“Um, yeah,” Zen finally manages to fumble out, clearing his throat. “What are those?”

 

Jumin chuckles. “You’re not so old that your eyesight is already failing you, are you?” Zen’s sleep-inebriated mind works to generate some retort, but Jumin doesn’t give him the time. “It’s breakfast. Rather, was — now it’s what they call ‘brunch,’ fresh from the kitchen. You are hungry, aren’t you?”

 

Zen’s heart starts to pound and he finds himself blushing uncontrollably. _Damn this guy! How am I supposed to one-up this? And strawberry pancakes, to boot!_ “Um, thanks, but really, you didn’t have to —”

 

“Oh, but I do.” Jumin smiles. He sets the tray down on the small table by the window. “For the cameras, remember?”

 

Zen’s blood runs cold. The cameras. The TV show. Right. He blinks quickly, ignoring the pain welling up in his chest. There’s no reason to feel this way. This is how it should be. “Yeah, I remember.”

 

Jumin seems to pause for a brief moment then continues speaking. “Did you have any plans for today?”

 

Zen simply blinks at the other man, too occupied with his thoughts to decipher Jumin’s words. “What?”

 

“If there is anywhere you’d like to go, Driver Kim can take us,” Jumin explains, steely gaze still locked onto Zen.

 

“Oh…no, I haven’t…” Zen gulps, caught off guard and unable to form any coherent response. _Should I just pick a place so we can go and maybe push aside this awkward atmosphere? But that doesn’t actually fix anything — but do we need to fix…this? What even is ‘this?’_ “I don’t really…want to go out today.”

 

Jumin’s eyes widen suddenly, shifting in demeanor as he briskly strides over to Zen’s side. “Is something the matter? Are you not feeling well?” His voice is strained as he urgently takes one of Zen’s hands into his own, Zen jumping slightly at the contact.

 

“Uh! That’s, um…” Zen stammers, pulse escalating at the feeling of Jumin’s thumb stroking worriedly over the back of his hand. _God, does he know he’s doing that? Does he know what he’s doing to_ me _with that?_

 

“Zen, you have to tell me. Where does it hurt?”

 

Zen inhales sharply at the question. Jumin’s eyes look so warm, familiar, and…sad. Zen’s other hand travels up to lay itself across his own chest instinctively. _Here,_ he wants to say. _It hurts here._

 

“It doesn’t hurt,” he says instead, shaking his head. “I just…need to to take a shower and wake up a bit.”

 

A brief silence hangs in the air between them until Jumin finally moves, pulling Zen close and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Alright. I understand,” he murmurs softly into Zen’s hair.

 

Zen’s fingers curl desperately into the sheets, tears pricking his eyes. _This isn’t real. None of it is._

 

The strawberry pancakes taste overly sweet in the silence across the table. Zen curls back up on the bed with his laptop and script, still quiet, while Jumin, for a change, brings his paperwork to the table in the bedroom. Zen lets him.

 

Unable to focus and desperate for a distraction, Zen rummages through various folders in his laptop, figuring he was due to clean out some of this stuff anyways. Old text documents with now useless information, pictures he took on accident, and…

 

“Oh.” The noise escapes him before he even realizes, and Jumin’s head perks up questioningly at the broken silence.

 

“What is it?”

 

Zen stares back at Jumin for a moment, then lets out a small laugh. “Ah, I just found one of my old audition tapes. I think it’s for the first musical I starred in — I didn’t even know I still had this buried somewhere.”

 

Jumin smiles, setting his pen down. The sight has Zen conscious of his heartbeat again. “Can I see?” Jumin asks.

 

“Aha, well, sure, I guess. It definitely pales in comparison to my current work, but we all have to start from somewhere, right?” Zen hurriedly explains, moving aside to make space for Jumin on the bed. The older man carefully sits himself down next to Zen, peering at the screen as Zen hits play.

 

“ _My life here in this world — you were the only for me…”_ the audio warbles as a young Zen comes into view against an ugly yellow background, gesturing dramatically as he sings. “Oh god,” Zen half-groans, half-laughs in embarrassment.

 

“ _Though sorrow of my heart, you loved me so…please tell me so.”_

 

Zen jumps at the smooth sound of Jumin’s low voice. “What the — you know this song? And you’re not bad at singing either?” he adds hastily under his breath.

 

Jumin shrugs, leaning against the headboard. “I told you, I’ve watched a few things here and there with Elizabeth 3rd.”

 

“Ah, right, yeah,” Zen sighs, folding his arms. “Then you should know that in the final production, I didn’t actually sing this song. This was just the song they used for evaluating the auditions.”

 

“Of course. I saw your performance, you know.”

 

Zen blinks at Jumin in disbelief. “Wait, what?”

 

“I wasn’t there for the live performance, but I watched a recording of it.” Jumin frowns. “You think I wouldn’t look into the experience of someone I’d want to extend business offers to?”

 

“Well, no,” Zen replies quickly, “but I just…didn’t expect you to look that far.” He laughs despite himself at the mental image of Jumin sitting stone-faced while marathoning Zen’s old work. “Even some of my current fanbase haven’t seen my first performances. What are you, my very first fan or something?”

 

A quiet chuckle rumbles in Jumin’s throat. “Perhaps, who knows. Though I certainly became less of a fan when you rejected my offers.”

 

“Well, you didn’t make a great first impression, I can tell you that,” Zen snorts. “But, you know…you’re not as bad as I thought. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes you are absolutely one hundred percent a jerk, but you’re not _always_ a jerk…is what I’m saying. The impression I got of you was just that you kinda reminded me of my brother, is all.”

 

Jumin raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t expect such a long-winded confession from you today.”

 

“ _Not_ a confession.”

 

“Technically, a confession, but not a confession of love as you’re used to,” Jumin mused. “But what is this about your brother?”

 

Zen jolts a bit, not realizing he had let the mention of his brother slip. “Oh. My brother, he…I thought he supported me in my career pursuits but turns out he wanted me to just study to become as successful as him after all. Success was all he really cared about, I guess. No one in my family really wanted me to be an actor.” God, why was he telling Jumin all this? “Which is why I kinda, um, ran away from home. Lived on my own, did a lot of…stuff. Yeah.” Why was he only just telling Jumin all this now?

 

“And you’re here now.” Zen eyes snap up to Jumin’s at the sound of the other man’s voice. “I don’t believe success can be measured accurately simply by whether one has acquired a high-salary job or not,” Jumin continues, unflinching gaze remaining on Zen. “Is success not simply achieving what one wishes in life?”

 

An exhale of breath that Zen didn’t even know he was holding suddenly leaves him. “That’s…” He burrows his face into his hands, despite knowing that Jumin can still tell he’s blushing by the color of his ears. “That’s why I said I was wrong for…for thinking you were like my brother. You’re not. You’re…a decent human being.”

 

“What a compliment,” Jumin replies in good humor.

 

“Okay, fine, fine! God, I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Zen laughs. “You’re…a good man, Jumin Han.”

 

Jumin smiles sweetly, a faint rosiness in his cheeks. “Thank you, Zen.”

 

Acutely embarrassed by the situation, Zen hurriedly continues. “Well, since I graciously poured my heart out to you, how about you return the favor? Got any family problems yourself?”

 

“Me?” Jumin blinks in surprise. “My father and I get along relatively well, I would say. I don’t always agree with his lifestyle, especially in terms of his love life. His affections seem…somewhat fleeting. He jumps from woman to woman often, but it doesn’t affect me very much.”

 

Zen tilts his head. “Really?”

 

Jumin’s eyes grow softer. “I suppose what I’ve learned from him is that, if I were to fall in love one day, I would wish to simply be with that person forever.”

 

Zen lets out a gentle laugh and smiles at Jumin. “That’s unexpectedly romantic of you. If those are truly your intentions, then…I hope you do fall in love someday. You deserve to be happy, Jumin.”

 

Jumin appears taken aback for a moment — then smiles back at Zen. But there’s something…something wrong. Something off. Jumin’s smile seems knowing, yet…sad.

 

Zen can’t seem to place his finger on why.

 

——————————————

 

“Have you ever tried fish-shaped bread?” Zen suddenly asks Jumin towards the end of their dinner.

 

Jumin pauses in his absentminded swirling of wine in his glass. “No, why do you ask?” he replies, puzzled.

 

“Seriously?!” Zen exclaims, setting his fork down. “They’re one of the most delicious things on earth! You have to try them someday!”

 

Jumin ponders for a moment. “I could ask one of my chefs to try to make them, if you’d like.”

 

Zen frantically waves his hands. “No, no, no, you can’t just — they’re meant to be enjoyed fresh from a stand on the street. One of the great joys is breaking one open outside on a cold night and watching the hot air poof out!”

 

Jumin amusedly watches Zen mimic breaking the bread open and the air wafting out. “Is that so?”

 

Zen nods enthusiastically. “There’s a stand that’s right outside where I live. The guy there makes the best fish-shaped bread — I’m a regular customer and entirely guilty of buying them by the dozens.”

 

“He is such an esteemed chef? Perhaps I should hire him.” Jumin narrows his eyes, seriously considering the idea.

 

“Aah, no, you leave that man alone, Jumin Han!” Zen wags a scolding finger at the other man. “The last thing I want is for that obnoxious C&R logo be slapped onto my fish-shaped bread too. Anyways, my point is that I absolutely _have_ to take you to try them, considering how much you’ve fed me so far.” He grins, eagerly leaning forward on the table. “Are you free this weekend? Or maybe next?”

 

Zen’s grin quickly disappears when he finally notices Jumin’s expression. It’s…that smile again. That smile, as if he’s saying —

 

“That’s enough, Zen. You’re free to go now.”

 

Zen blinks. “…huh?”

 

Jumin wordlessly taps the watch on his wrist. Zen fumbles for his phone and checks the time. 6:02 PM.

 

“The 72 hours are over, Zen. You don’t need to act anymore.” Jumin quickly presses his napkin to his mouth and stands up. “If you don’t want one of my drivers to take you back home, then I will at least escort you out of the building.”

 

Zen’s stomach drops and ice seems to creep into his veins. The 72 hours…he had been so caught up in the moment that he had forgotten.

 

“Wait…wait!” Zen stands up far too quickly, causing the plates on the table to clatter loudly. “You say I was acting, but what about you? Were you acting this whole time?” He tries to ignore the trembling in his voice. “Be honest with me, Jumin Han.” His challenging gaze is steadily met by Jumin’s grey eyes.

 

“You already know the answer to that, don’t you?” Jumin quietly replies, taking Zen by the hand and leading him out into the hallway. “You make your living as an actor, after all.”

 

Zen struggles to find a response to that, heart and mind both racing to find an answer but the pings of the elevator disrupt his thoughts like the toll of a bell. His chest tightens. He has to say something, anything — but what? What does he want? Does he want to stay here? Does he want to stay with Jumin? Just what are these feelings that are so overwhelming, so utterly painful —

 

“Zen.”

 

Wide red eyes finally dart up and discern the surroundings. Night time, the busy, fleeting lights of passing cars and cell phones, cold air — outside. Puffs of air form in the frigid night air as Zen tries to form words, anything to stop time from its cruel march, but all of his efforts are silenced by Jumin’s knowing expression.

 

“Regardless of what choice you make,” Jumin says, his tone so practiced and reserved. “I wish you nothing but success in your career.” Professional, robot-like Jumin, as always. _As always?_

 

_No…that’s wrong. I know now. I know the real Jumin Han._

 

“Jumin —” Zen finally manages to speak.

 

“Goodbye, Zen.” And just like that, Jumin nods politely and disappears within the doors to his home — no, his residence, once more.

 

For the first time in his life, Zen learns what it’s like to be rendered breathless by another person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Boy, do I love angst, lol.)
> 
> Anyways, hello again! I have to sincerely, SINCERELY apologize for how long this update took. In fact, I doubt most of you are still reading this anymore, haha -- but it's okay! I went through some tough months between now and the last update and, despite my inactivity, I always found myself coming back to the comments section of this fic to read all the utterly wonderful comments people left me. I cannot thank all of you enough for helping me get back up on my feet. You all mean the world to me.
> 
> Which is why I could never give up on this fic. I love writing this fic more than I can express and, regardless of what has happened in updates or fandom as time has passed, Mystic Messenger holds a very dear place in my heart. I am so glad to see some people jumping back in because of V's route (I'm readying my tissues lol) and I can only hope that, if any of them have read this fic, they return so that they may at least read this note and know just how much I owe them. Thank you again so much for giving me so much joy!
> 
> To end this horribly long author's note, I'd like to note that, yes, that 4/? label for the chapters on this fic has changed now to 5/6. I hope to finish this fic soon and strong, so get ready for the next (and final) update! See ya!


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